“I shall seek another path. Farewell to you, O ascetics.” With these heavy words, the king turned away, his heart burdened by rejection. But as the sons of the sage heard his declaration—words brimming with grim intent—they were seized by anger. In their fury, they pronounced a fearsome curse upon him: “You shall become a Caṇḍāla!” Having uttered this curse, those great souls departed, each returning to his own hermitage. When night had passed, the curse took hold. The king was transformed into a Caṇḍāla: his skin darkened, his garments turned to rags, his hair grew wild and disheveled. He adorned himself with garlands of tatters, smeared his body with ashes, and wore iron ornaments. When his ministers beheld him in this dreadful form, they were overcome with fear and fled together, as did the townspeople who had followed him. Thus, the king—descendant of Kakutstha, possessed of supreme self-control—found himself utterly alone. Tormented day and night, the king made his way to Viśvāmitra, the great ascetic. When Viśvāmitra saw the king, rendered fruitless by the curse, he was moved to deep compassion. Gazing upon the king’s wretched form, the sage’s heart softened, and he addressed him in kindly tones: “May it be well with you. For what purpose have you come, O mighty prince?” Viśvāmitra recognized that the king, lord of Ayodhya, had become a Caṇḍāla by the force of the curse. The king, with hands joined in reverence and skilled in speech, addressed the sage: “I have been rejected by my guru and by his sons. The desire for which I strove has been denied me, and I have met only its opposite. O gentle one, may I ascend to heaven with my body. Though I have performed a hundred sacrifices, I have not attained their fruit. I have never spoken falsehood, nor will I ever do so. Even in affliction, I have upheld the Kshatriya’s duty—protecting my people through righteousness and many sacrifices. The great elders have been pleased by my conduct, yet even so, they are not satisfied. O best of sages, I see now that fate is supreme and human effort fruitless. All is overpowered by fate, which alone is the highest path. I am afflicted and seek your favor, O blessed one—do what you can for one whose actions are blocked by fate. I have no other refuge, no other shelter. Only you can turn aside fate by your own effort.” Now, O Rāma, listen as the next episode of this story unfolds in the glorious Rāmāyaṇa of Vālmīki. Viśvāmitra, son of Kuśika, his heart filled with compassion, spoke gently to the king, who truly had become a Caṇḍāla: “O Ikṣvāku, welcome, my child. I know you are truly righteous. I grant you refuge—do not fear, O foremost of kings. I will summon all the great sages, those who assist in sacrifices. Then, O king, you shall perform the sacrifice to your satisfaction. The form that has come upon you by the guru’s curse— with this very form, you shall ascend bodily to heaven. Heaven is within your reach, O king, for you have come to me, the son of Kuśika, seeking shelter.” Having spoken thus, the great and radiant sage instructed his supremely righteous sons, wise in all things, to prepare the sacrificial materials. He summoned all his disciples and commanded them: “Bring here, at my behest, all the sages along with Vasiṣṭha. Bring their disciples, their friends, and the officiating priests learned in the Vedas. Let anyone who wishes to speak, prompted by my words, also come.” He explained, “All this I have already declared, yet my words were disregarded.” Hearing his command, the disciples departed in all directions. From every region, Brahmanical sages gathered, bringing their disciples. They approached Viśvāmitra, who blazed with ascetic power. The assembled sages spoke on behalf of all the Brahmins, and, hearing their words, the twice-born ones began to arrive from every land—except from Mahodaya. The Vasiṣṭhas, filled with wrath, uttered harsh words: “How can a Kshatriya be the officiating priest for a Caṇḍāla? How can the divine sages in the assembly partake of his oblation, or the great Brahmins eat food from a Caṇḍāla? How will those protected by Viśvāmitra attain heaven?” With eyes reddened by anger, they spoke these words, joined by those from Mahodaya. Hearing their challenge, Viśvāmitra’s own eyes grew red with fury. “Though I am blameless and steadfast in fierce austerity, they revile me,” he declared. “Those wicked ones shall be reduced to ashes! Today, by the noose of Time, they are led to the realm of Yama. For seven hundred births, let them be born as Mṛtapās, feeding on dog flesh, merciless, and known as Muṣṭikas—deformed and misshapen, wandering the worlds without honor. As for Mahodaya, who slandered me though I am blameless, he shall become a Niṣāda, intent on killing living beings, devoid of compassion. For a long time, through my wrath, he will dwell in misery.” Having spoken these words, the great ascetic Viśvāmitra, radiant among sages, fell silent, the assembly hushed in awe at the power of his words and the depth of his compassion for the afflicted king.